


15 April, 2011

by renardroux



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2011, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Playoffs, Polyamory, Post-Game(s), Vancouver Canucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renardroux/pseuds/renardroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easier to go with it than not, but Jon's never been into easy</p>
            </blockquote>





	15 April, 2011

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Written anonymously for offseasonmatch's Disreputable Post-Game Hook-ups challenge.

The drive from the arena to Kesler's place takes maybe fifteen minutes, but the silence and the sheer west coast ostentation of the sunset as they cross the bridge into Kitsilano make it seem to take longer.

Vancouver is how it always is, which is to say exactly as described and somehow slightly un-Canadian. Jon never gets the sense that he's back in his home country here, and he's not sure if it's because Vancouver is frankly nothing like Winnipeg or if it's because it is, despite everything, so thoroughly associated with Kesler in his mind.

Jon doesn't even know why he's doing this again-- or, he does, if he's honest with himself; it's because Kesler gets him wound up like no other and gives head like a pro. Jon's phone is buzzing in his pocket, and he knows he's got about a dozen texts from Kaner that are variations on the first two that Jon actually read, namely 'ur fraternizing with the enemy' and 'srsly dude we will find u a nice candian boy', neither of which were particularly effective deterrents, especially after offering to take Jon's bag back to the hotel and stuffing a handful of condoms into Jon's pocket. But when they pull up into Kesler's driveway and Jon sees the rope swing on the big tree in Kesler's yard and the little tricycle on its side underneath it, it's like someone's poured a glass of ice water down his spine.

Kesler just reaches up to his sun visor to tap the garage door opener and says, like it's no big deal, "Andrea always takes the kids to a girlfriend's place after big games." Jon feels like a coward and a hypocrite, but he honestly hadn't thought about it; it was easy not to when it was rushed, sloppy blowjobs in his room at the Olympic Village while the rest of Team Canada played ping pong with the speed skaters, rather than sitting in the garage this guy owns with his wife.

Kesler looks over at Jon while he yanks on the E-brake and huffs a humourless laugh.

"You really do think I'm a total dick, don't you?"

Jon opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it when he realizes he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't trust himself unscripted right now, still stinging from losing _again_ , not knowing where he stands or what the fuck he's doing. Kesler unbuckles his seatbelt and twists, reaching over the centre console, to place his hand against the passenger window, crowding Jon back against his seat. There are still maybe six inches between their faces, but Jon can feel Kesler's breath on his neck, and he's about a hair's breadth from punching Kesler in the solar plexus and taking a cab back to the Westin when Kesler says, voice scratchy and low, "I tell her absolutely everything."

Kesler leans in and scrapes his beard against Jon's own patchy playoff scruff before nipping at the line of his jaw. "I tell her what you sound like, and what your mouth looks like on my dick, and what your face looks like when I make you come all over yourself."

Just like that, Jon's cock goes from zero to sixty; all the blood set simmering in his veins for not being _good enough_ boils over, and he grabs Kesler by his still-damp hair and bites his way into that dirty mouth.

"Yeah?" Jon asks, before he can talk himself out of it, "Did you tell her about the time I fucked your face? How you moaned when I pulled your hair?" Kesler's moan _now_ sounds as gut-punched as it had around Jon's dick in that storage room at Rogers after game six last year, muffled as it is by Jon's tongue. Kesler scrambles half-way into Jon's lap before clearly thinking better of it and sliding his hand down the passenger door to pop the handle.

"C'mon, we're not fucking in the car— it smells enough like balls as it is."

That surprises a huff of laughter out of Jon, and he pushes Kesler back into his own side of the SUV before unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out. He's got Bambi legs from the combination of post-game adrenaline and a boner he could break concrete with, so he shuts his door and watches, arms braced against the top of the doorframe, as Kesler fumbles his own way out of the car. By the time Jon's got his feet under him, Kesler's grabbed his gear bag out of the trunk and chucked the whole thing in the deep freeze next to the door to the house, and is waiting for Jon to follow him in, so Jon does.

The house is nice, but Jon is surprised it's not douchey-nice. It's definitely got more of a feminine touch than Jon's own place; if anything it reminds him of Sharpie's house, only with kids' toys everywhere rather than dog toys. Jon doesn't get to see much of it though, with the way Kesler's taking the stairs at a jog.

Jon follows Kesler up and gets about half a second to look around the landing before he's being manhandled into the master bedroom, Kesler's hands jammed into Jon's waistband, knuckles pressed against Jon's hips. It's easier to go with it than not, but Jon's never been into easy, so he grabs Kesler by the neck and his belt and leans in for a kiss that starts out sloppy and gets sloppier as Jon uses what weight advantage he has to spin them around and get Kesler backing toward the bed that dominates the room.

Their teeth click together when Kesler hits the bed, dragging Jon with him by the tie. Kesler laughs into the kiss and wriggles back a bit on the duvet to toe his shoes off, nearly kneeing Jon in the balls in the process. Jon doesn't stop to think before grabbing Kesler by the hair and biting down hard on his neck in retaliation, and the part of his brain that's still operating rationally is surprised at how well that works: Kesler goes limp with a strangled groan and then arches his back, using the grip he still has on Jon's pants to grind their groins together.

After a moment, Kesler drags one hand out of Jon's waistband to pat at the front of Jon's pocket before fumbling inside and pulling out the handful of condoms. There are like _twelve_ and some of them are _coloured_ and Jon cannot hold back the sound of embarrassment he muffles in Kesler's shoulder as Kesler wheezes with helpless laughter. "Shit, man, I think I'm going to disappoint you."

At this point, chewing on Kesler's neck is a matter of self-defense. Kesler's chuckling turns breathless and he drops the condoms on the bed in favour of planting his hand on Jon's ass and bucking up with his hips for contact.

Then it's a scramble to get naked, hampered by the fact that they're horizontal and Jon really doesn't want to let go of Kesler's hair. They manage, even with only three hands between them. And if Jon's shirt is missing a few buttons now, that's just another thing for Kaner to make fun of him for later.

Jon is toeing off his other sock when Kesler rolls them, shuffling down the bed as soon as he's got Jon on his back to lick a stripe up his cock. Jon's still got his hand fisted in Kesler's stupid tufty hair, and pulling tight gets him a hot breath huffed against the base of his dick, tingling cold where the line of saliva evaporates. Kesler gets his elbows under him and goes down, tapping at Jon's ass with his fingertips until Jon gets the message and plants his feet on the bed to thrust up into Kesler's mouth, using the hand in his hair to hold his head still.

Kesler breathes loud and wet, every moaning exhale cut off by Jon's cock hitting the back of his throat. It's the hottest thing Jon's ever heard, and he's about twenty seconds away from embarrassing himself when Kesler pushes up and off with an obnoxious pop, crawling up Jon's body to mouth at his jaw. Jon tips his head to catch Kesler's mouth in a kiss that, yeah, tastes like dick, but it's hot, so whatever.

"Mm," says Kesler, tonguing Jon's lower lip, "you should fuck me."

Jon's still processing while Kesler reaches across him to the bedside table. He comes back with a bottle of lube that he hands to Jon without ceremony, sitting back on Jon's thighs and palming his cock with an expectant look on his face. Jon bats the bottle from one hand to the other; it's like two-thirds empty, and for some reason that's hot. Probably it's the same lube he uses with his wife. Maybe he uses it on himself, maybe he's brought it on the road, jerked himself off with two fingers in his ass.

Jon pops the cap and slicks his fingers, then smacks Kesler's thigh with his slippery palm to get him to kneel up. As Jon's pressing a finger inside, he says, "Tell me what you're gonna tell your wife."

Kesler tips his head to the side, mouth open, and shifts on his knees, thighs bunching as he rides Jon's finger. "You're... gonna have to work for a glowing report," he says between reedy groans, dropping forward onto his hands when Jon pushes a second finger into him.

Jon just fucks him like that for a while, until Kesler's slumped down with his forehead jammed against Jon's collarbone, moaning continuously, and Jon's shoulder is starting to hurt from the awkward position. He reaches out to get a condom, but Kesler smacks his hand away and sits up a bit to grab one himself, sifting through the small pile as though looking for one in particular. Apparently satisfied, he picks one and tears it open before leaning forward to kiss Jon and roll the condom onto his cock in one admittedly smooth move.

Attempting to be anywhere near as smooth, Jon sucks Kesler's tongue as he slides his fingers out of Kesler's ass and snags the lube to slick the condom, then wriggles a bit to nudge his cock against Kesler's hole. Kesler pushes up and back, breaking the kiss wetly, palms braced to either side of Jon's shoulders. Then he's sinking down and Jon has to move his hand fast or risk getting it crushed between them.

Just like that, Jon's entire world narrows, and he's lost in the vise grip clench of Kesler's body, hands gripping Kesler's flexing quads, heels dug into the mattress to move with him. Jon looks down to watch his dick disappear into Kesler's ass, and that's when he sees it; the fucker picked out a _bright blue condom_. Hitting Kesler is pure reflex right then, and Jon catches him with an open palm right in the ribs.

Kesler jerks up and away from Jon's hand with a gasp that dissolves into wheezy laughter and picks up the pace. He's got one hand planted over Jon's on his thigh, and he's jerking himself off with the other, still grinning. Jon is too keyed up to make a solid effort at being annoyed; he can feel the tell-tale shaking in Kesler's quads that says he's almost there, so he slides a hand up Kesler's inner thigh to press a thumb behind his balls and plants his feet to thrust at counterpoint.

What feels like hours but is probably just a minute later, Kesler's rhythm falls apart completely and he comes messily all over his own abs and Jon's, hunching forward with a strangled noise that is both the least sexy thing Jon has ever heard and really, _really_ doing it for him. Jon takes over then, tipping them onto their sides and fumbling toward his own orgasm with a few more uncoordinated thrusts.

Kesler pulls Jon in for a kiss that's mostly just a haphazard slide of open mouths, and before Jon's even done twitching Kesler pulls away to deal with the offensively blue condom, disappearing into the bathroom. Jon loses a few seconds to an extended blink that is interrupted when Kesler wings a wet washcloth right at his face, then stands there laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever seen while Jon cleans himself up.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift back to the Bayshore," says Kesler, chucking Jon's balled up shirt at him. Jon sits up to put it on, and sure enough, it's missing a few buttons, but he figures if he tucks it in and does up his jacket no one will be able to tell.

They tug their clothes on in a sex-fuzzed companionable silence, Kesler in a t-shirt and jeans and Jon back into his rumpled suit. Jon feels reset, rebooted by sex-energy or something, and Kesler's lost his hyper, adrenalized edges. They make their way through the quiet house to the SUV, then through the quiet streets back downtown, where in the dark Vancouver just looks like any other city.

It takes less than ten minutes before they're pulling up in front of Jon's hotel, where a bellhop who obviously recognizes them does a hilarious double-take.

"Did I earn my glowing report?" Jon asks, one hand on the door handle.

Jon jumps a little when Kesler smacks him on the thigh, and of course he's grinning. "First star, man." Then, "I'll see you in Chicago."

Jon's pushing the door open and climbing out of the car, but he doesn't need to look to know what Kesler's face looks like when he says, "Yeah, you will."


End file.
